Backfire
by shipwreck-stars
Summary: Ratchet's too stressed out and a certain wrecker wants to help him relax. And in return, the wrecker discovers something about himself.


The Cybertronian glyphs on the blue screen swam together. Ratchet sighed and rubbed his optics. He had worked for days without any recharge. Like many nights prior, he was glued to the main computer, working. Ratchet barely took any breaks. Besides a few Energon refuels, he had thrown himself into his current projects and work, despite the subtle protests of his leader. Besides the frantic clicking of keys, the base was quiet.

Aches and pains gnawed at Ratchet's joints. He was so tired. Rolling his shoulder plates, he scowled.

"Need help with that 'Doc?" A gravelly voice turned and saw Wheeljack in the doorway. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed coolly with a smirk on his faceplate.

Ratchet scoffed and waved a dismissive hand at the wrecker. "The only thing a mech such as yourself could help me with is leaving." Ratchet said, optics narrowing.

Wheeljack sauntered over to the disgruntled medic and shook his head. "Looks like ya got a wrench up your aft." he said, chuckling.

Ratchet rolled his optics and turned away from the wrecker. "As you can see, I'm in no need for your antics. If you must have entertainment, I suggest you bother Bulkhead. " he said crisply.

Wheeljack snorted. "The big lug's snoring up a storm. Besides, it's much more fun getting under your plating."

Ratchet stopped typing. "What do you want Wheeljack?" Wheeljack grinned.

He gripped the medic's shoulders and whirled him around.

"Wheeljack!" Ratchet squawked. Wheeljack began rubbing the taut cables in the crevasses of Ratchet's shoulder plates.

The tension that had wedged itself under Ratchet's shoulder plating dissolved almost instantly. Ratchet closed his optics and let his body sag against Wheeljack's magic fingers.

Wheeljack slid his hands down Ratchet's back, his fingers getting deep into the metal. Heat began to swell between Ratchet's legs.

Ratchet snapped open his optics and stepped abruptly away from Wheeljack. A bluish tint spread across his faceplate.

Wheeljack frowned, arms left dangling by his sides.

"W-we must stop." Ratchet said quickly. Wheeljack looked at him.

"Why?"

"Because if we continue there's no telling what might happ-"

Wheeljack turned his head and brushed his scarred lip plates against Ratchet's. Ratchet's optics widened. Ratchet was afraid of what might happen between them. Afraid of all the possible consequences. But primus knew how he wanted him now. Wheeljack broke away.

"'Doc, I want to help you relax." he whispered huskily. Ratchet looked into the wrecker's optics. No hesitance swam in them. Only warmth. Frag it.

Ratchet sighed and pulled Wheeljack into a kiss. Wheeljack returned it fiercly, pinning him against the wall.

Ratchet could feel his spike already pressing against his plating. Every touch or brush sent shivers to his humming spark. Wheeljack kneeled down, his face level with the heated space between Ratchet's spread legs.

Ratchet inhaled sharply. He let his crotch plating retract, revealing all his glory. His spike was thick and short, matching his frame's color scheme; his valve a dark blue.

Ratchet looked down and cringed. He was already dripping lubricant. Wheeljack grinned at the medic's obvious arousal.

"Didn't know a simple back rub could get your motor runnin, 'Doc." the wrecker said wryly. Ratchet scoffed and looked away from the wrecker, his cheekplates burning blue.

Wheeljack dragged his glossa against the spike's tip, lapping up the lubricant beaded at the top.

Ratchet gasped, fingers scraping against the metal wall. Wheeljack slid the rest of the tip into his mouth.

He swirled his glossa around it, gently pumping the rest of the spike with his hand.

"P-primus.." Ratchet breathed, throwing his head back. The wrecker slid a couple of fingers into the medic, teasing the sensitive inner-nodes of his pulsating valve.

Ratchet gritted his denta, struggling hard to hold back. He couldn't overload now, not yet. But his self-restraint quickly crumbled.

Ratchet shuttered his optics and let out a long groan as he overloaded. Hot lubricant spurted from his spike and his body shuttered. Wheeljack gave Ratchet's spike one long last lick and removed his fingers from his valve.

He stood up and wiped the fluids from his lip plates, swallowing the rest in his mouth. Flicking away the beads of lubricant still on his fingers, Wheeljack looked at the medic. Ratchet looked so vulnerable.

He was leaning against the wall, limbs slack and relaxed. His optics were closed and his mouth was half-open in a look of content.

Wheeljack smiled. It was one of those rare moments that Ratchet wasn't plagued with the worries of war. He cared about the medic. _His_ medic.

Ratchet inhaled deeply and opened his optics. "I needed that." he said.

_I need you._

The words were an explosion across Wheeljack's mind.

"Glad I could help, Sunshine." he said simply.


End file.
